


Yield

by Eralk Fang (EralkFang)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dry Humping, First Time, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EralkFang/pseuds/Eralk%20Fang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You think you could give me a challenge?” </p><p>“Why don’t you come over here and see?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the following prompt at tfa_kink](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/2821.html?thread=4200453#cmt4200453):
>
>> Just something with Hux and Kylo tussling playfully. Maybe it starts out as sparring and devolves into something very unfitting of an esteemed General and a powerful Knight of Ren. And sex.

When insomnia strikes Hux, as it often does, he knows that the best cure is exertion. He does not waste time tossing and turning in bed—he changes into suitable gear, retires to the practice room reserved for senior officers, and exhausts himself. An hour’s worth of physical labor usually does the trick. 

Tonight, the eternal, endless hum of the _Finalizer_ ’s engines offer no comfort at the end of a long day. Hux waits exactly fifteen minutes before giving up on sleep. 

Even in the officers’ quarters, the halls are hardly empty. But the practice room is usually left untouched around the official end of Hux’s shifts, a show of deference from his staff that touches him.

Tonight, though, there’s somebody already in the practice room. Hux pauses at the doorway, the door sliding shut behind him. The stranger is a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair just long enough to be tied back. He’s going through a series of movements that take him from one end of the practice room to the other, concentration evident in the tension of his muscles. 

It takes Hux a moment to recognize Kylo Ren. His now instinctive hatred for Ren rises like bile in his throat. Invading the _Finalizer_ wasn’t enough—now even this sanctum sanctorum isn’t safe from his oppressive presence. He says nothing. He knows Ren knows he’s there. Instead, he observes.

He’s rarely seen Ren unmasked, let alone stripped to his leggings. The lack of clothing only serves to make him more imposing. His chest is broad and strong, his shoulders expansive. Hux feels a twinge of envy. He’s fit, certainly, but not like _that_. 

It takes him another moment to recognize Ren’s movements as Echani. It’s a little unsettling, to see someone as unruly and seemingly wild as Ren practice a martial art second nature to everyone in the First Order. Hux feels like Ren should be doing something he’s never heard of. And doing it in his own quarters.

He’s not bad—or, to be more honest, he wouldn’t be so bad, if he was a youth and not a grown man. Ren’s strikes are thorough, but his stance is too open. He probably thinks he’s—probably _is_ —strong enough to counter any openings he might give away with sheer force, but an open stance encourages sloppy footwork. It’s almost painful to watch Ren brutalize his way through what should be precisely executed forms. The flaws in his form look almost natural, as if he started from a poor foundation. The Echani people value their unarmed combat as the highest form of communication—unsurprisingly, Ren is as inarticulate and graceless in this as he is in everything else.

“Your form is appalling,” Hux calls out when he can’t stand to watch anymore. 

Ren doesn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. “You can do better?”

“Of course,” Hux scoffs. “I was trained personally by a member of the Emperor’s Royal Guard.” 

“Let me guess—extracurriculars at the Academy,” Ren says. His natural voice is almost as deep, petulant, and unmodulated as the one the helmet gives him. 

“And judging by your stance, you must have learned it secondhand in a swamp of some kind.”

Ren gives a dismissive snort. “If you want to challenge me, challenge me. If you don’t, go back to sleep.”

“You think you could give me a challenge?” 

“Why don’t you come over here and see?” Ren turns around, finally and drops into a sloppy challenging stance. He beckons for Hux to come at him. 

Fine. He could use the exercise, and wiping the floor with Ren will undoubtedly serve the same purpose as exhausting himself. Hux approaches Ren, dropping, pointedly, into a flawless formal Echani challenging stance.

They stare at each other for a moment, bobbing lightly, and then Ren lashes out with a kick. Block. Strike. Block. Strike. Block. Ren takes the absurd risk of spinning, exposing his back to Hux for a moment, but he’s fast enough that he bats Hux’s strike away like nothing on his return and kicks Hux squarely in the chest. Hux stumbles backwards, but does not fall. 

He was right—Ren overcompensates for his poor form with his strength, and he is _strong_ , stronger than Hux anticipated. Almost suspiciously so. 

They circle and return to their challenging stances, nodding curtly at each other. Ren, at least, has _some_ understanding of Echani etiquette. The second round goes much the same way as the first, although Hux, now little more used to Ren’s awkward technique, manages to land a handful of blows on Ren’s chest that would fell a lesser man. But Ren seems to barely register it. 

“Don’t use the Force,” Hux chides, as they circle back for round three. 

“Why would I waste the Force on you?” Ren sneers. 

Hux lunges at him, provoked. Ren strikes him in the head, a legal but underhanded move, and Hux sees stars briefly. He ignores the pain, striking Ren in the chest. Ren grunts, and they fall into the almost soothing pattern again—Strike. Block. Strike. Block. 

Strike.

Hux braces for Ren’s blow to fall on his shoulder, clobbering him to the ground, but, instead, Ren taps two fingers to Hux’s clavicle. “Yield,” he says.

The insult of Ren holding back for his sake burns Hux to his core. He stares at Ren’s offending hand and into his unfamiliar face.

Echani etiquette be damned—it’s wasted on this man. Hux kicks Ren in the stomach. 

Ren staggers back, doubling over a little, and it pleases Hux to see Ren suffer. Hux tackles him, with effort. They crash to the mats, and Hux rears up to smash his fists into whatever part of Ren he can get at. 

He wants to batter Ren’s face, leave him bloody-nosed and black-eyed, but he doesn’t think for one second that Snoke won’t know about this little encounter come morning. The news will go down easier, perhaps unremarked, if he doesn’t mar the visage of the Supreme Leader’s precious little pet. 

Ren has no such compunctions about him, however—Hux yells when Ren reaches up and grabs at Hux’s face, nails digging into his skin. Ren jerks underneath him and they fall sideways. Ren takes the opportunity to roll them over, pressing his forearm against Hux’s throat as he crouches over him. Hux gargles in protest, although it’s not enough to actually choke him.

“Yield,” Ren demands. 

“Never,” Hux grunts with an effort, and knees Ren in the stomach. Ren absorbs the blow, grimacing, and sits on him, settling his entire weight on Hux. 

Hux gulps, freezing at the contact despite the heat of the room and their exertion. He’s suddenly and painfully aware that he’s hard. Achingly so. 

The situation shifts—he’s suddenly so aware of Ren’s bare flesh and the weight of his body that he feels himself flush. Ren seems not to notice, finally snatching Hux’s wrists with both hands and pinning them above his head to the mat. Hux tries to buck Ren off of him, but it does nothing but spur his erection on and alert Ren to his condition. 

Ren goes very still, and then stares into Hux’s eyes, his own unreadable. He’s panting and he’s radiating heat like a furnace from the exertion. 

He’d be overwhelming even if he wasn’t sitting on Hux’s stomach.

Hux’s mind is racing, but he’s trapped. There is no graceful way to exit this situation. The satisfying binary logic of fighting—strike or block—is replaced by another piece of binary logic—either Ren will ignore this or exploit this. 

He does not expect Ren to grind, slowly, back onto him, intently watching his reaction. But then, Ren was made to frustrate binaries and the well-ordered mind. Hux presses his lips together—he refuses to give Ren the satisfaction of noise. 

Ren makes his second pass even slower, and Hux feels that he’s hard, too. He groans at the thought, at the touch. 

“Do you yield?” Ren asks, as lightly as if they were on the command deck, not rubbing against each other like teenagers in an unlocked room. 

“What?” Hux sputters.

Ren rolls his hips more forcefully, and Hux’s back arches off the mat, traitorously.

“Do. You. Yield?” Ren breathes.

“Never,” Hux hisses. This is a fight too, he belatedly realizes, and he struggles against Ren. But it’s useless. Ren is straddling his stomach, sitting low enough that he can grind back onto Hux, but high enough that the pressure isn’t constant.

Ren removes one hand from Hux’s wrists and gathers both his wrists in the other, his palm slipping against Hux’s, briefly. Hux grimaces at the contact, at the intimacy it insinuates, but he doesn’t dare break eye contact with Ren. 

Ren reaches down casually and pulls the hem of Hux’s shirt up, exposing his stomach and most of his chest. For a moment, Hux thinks Ren is going to twist the thin fabric around his fist and pull, choking him, and the idea makes his hips stutter, catching nothing but air. 

Ren runs a hand down Hux’s rapidly flushing chest, still staring at him impassively. Hux’s skin burns in the wake of Ren’s touch. He can feel the back of Ren’s hand against his skin as it travels downwards. He hears skin on fabric, and then, suddenly, Ren’s— _thick_ —cock against his stomach.

Hux swallows and grunts, but doesn’t dare look down, doesn’t dare break eye contact with Ren. Ren is still staring at him, face solemn. He grinds his hips, seemingly experimentally, dragging his cock against Hux’s stomach. Hux moans at the feeling of wet on his skin as Ren’s cock leaks precome onto his stomach, pooling in his navel.

When Ren moves, he rubs, quite purposefully, against Hux’s still trapped erection. Hux grunts. He wants to move, grind back against him, but Ren won’t let him. 

Ren’s other hand returns to his wrists, as if Hux still needs to be held down when all he wants to do is grab Ren’s hips and grind against him until he comes. Hux watches Ren’s face turn red from the exertion of something, and he realizes Ren is actively trying not to make noise, grunting a little here and there when he can’t contain it completely. 

He must be so loud in bed, Hux thinks, and imagines the noises Ren must make, fucking someone properly. The noises he would make, fucking Hux properly. He whines at the thought and renews his struggles against Ren, desperate for relief. The pressure of Ren’s weight on him and the heavy drag of his cock against his stomach is enough to set his nerves on fire, but it’s not enough to get him off. Hux ceases his useless thrashing and cries out when Ren pulls back far enough to barely brush against his cock.

The noise seems to push Ren over the edge. Ren makes a choked noise and comes, striping Hux’s stomach with wet, white heat. Hux whines again, stomach contracting at both the feel of it and how frustrated he is. 

Ren releases his wrists and sits back, directly on Hux’s trapped, throbbing cock, sweaty, grim-faced, and, somehow, victorious. Hux could choke on how much he hates and wants the man on top of him. He presses against Ren as much as he’s able, but there’s nowhere for him to move.

Ren leans forward, his great face looming over Hux’s. Hux panics at the idea of Ren kissing him—it seems too intimate, despite Ren’s come on his stomach, despite how much he wants Ren to just _let him come_. Hux writhes, to no avail. 

Ren doesn’t kiss him. Instead, he rolls his hips against Hux’s and says, breath scorching against Hux’s mouth, “Yield.”

“Never,” Hux says, breathless. 

“Then come for me,” Ren says, and mouthes his neck. 

Hux is helpless to do anything but obey.

By the time Hux’s head clears from his orgasm, Ren is already on the other side of the practice room. Hux feels—well, sticky, mostly, but also like he’s lost. Like Ren has made clear what he’s done to him as clearly as if he’d bruised him. He feels different. 

A towel lands on his face. 

Hux sits up and tries to clean himself off as much as he can. He looks over at Ren, who is tugging on a shirt, broad back to him. 

“You’re right,” Ren says, after a long silence. “My form is off. Come back tomorrow night.”

Hux thinks of getting another chance at this—of having Ren on his back next time, or, better yet, riding him. He licks his lips. 

“We’ll see,” Hux says, but he knows—they both know—that he’ll be here tomorrow night and the night after that. When Hux finally gets to his feet, Ren is gone, as if vanished. 

Hux returns to his quarters and sleeps like the dead. He does not dream. He never does.


End file.
